


Temporary Home

by Yumislover99



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abuse, Bullying, Drug Use, Foster Care, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:04:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5283122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yumislover99/pseuds/Yumislover99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm not entirely sure where this came from, just an fyi.<br/>----<br/>Eren is 17 and a foster kid who's been in and out of more families than he can count. He's eventually going to meet Leevee, I'm just not sure when and how yet, but I'll figure that out.<br/>There is self harm and non con, also slight underage sex if you consider 17 underage. You have been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temporary Home

**Author's Note:**

> It's 5:30 in the morning.  
> I have to pick my mother up in three hours.  
> Sorry if there is typos, I'll correct them in the morning.  
> Guess who's back though, my little titans. <3

_The throbbing at the base of my skull is nothing new. I’m used to being shoved into lockers and cement walls, but this time, I’m legitimately surprised that I don’t have a concussion. Out of all the times someone has cracked my head against a locker, well, I’d have to say that the locker did more damage than I did to it. That being said, the lockers in this school are a lot sturdier than they’d have you believe with their obnoxious orange color._

_As you’ve probably guessed, I’m new to this school._

_And it wouldn’t be the first time, nor that last time (although I did hope), that I would be referring to a school as ‘new’. I’m in a different school so often that they all start to look the same to me; except this one had orange and black as their school colors, and apparently, panthers can be a mascot._

_In the last year, I’ve been to three different high schools. And each time, I have to say, the bullies are the same. Some sort of athletes, maybe failing a class or two. Or three. Because they can’t seem to get it through their thick skulls that maybe instead of pushing people smaller than them around, they should be studying to pass. Actually no, scratch that, they’re going to be getting by on football scholarships and with their daddy’s money._

_I could never manage that. I’m a scrawny brunet seventeen-year-old that can hardly force himself to eat half a cheeseburger now. I don’t run, and I’m pretty sure I’m like emaciated or something. But aside from that, I would rather keep my head down than try and join a sport of some kind. I get the feeling that the bullying would only be worse._

_I used to deal with bullies no problem; I was a tall kid in middle school, taller than most of the other boys my grade, but as soon as I reached my freshmen year, I realized first hand that I couldn’t take on these big ass titans, especially when they came in groups. And most of the time, they did._

_So trying to avoid them became the best option, and that doesn’t work either. They target me because I’m different. They sniff me out like hounds to a jack rabbit; rich young men to an irrelevant foster kid. Who no one really cares if they’re harassed or not, because there’s no real parents to go to._

_I’m a problem child; I’m a freak. That’s what they all tell me._

_I’m an ugly faggot and an orphan._

_I’m--_

 

“Jaeger. JAEGER.”

I jerked back violently as my calculus teacher slammed his hands down on my desk, bringing my arms up to protect my face as there were various snickers scattered about the room. Noticing that, I quickly dropped my arms to stare at the middle aged man in front of me, who straightened with a glare that could kill.

Honestly, I wish that it were capable of such a thing.

“That is the fourth time that I’ve had to call you; four times too many. You can take yourself and whatever fantasy land you were dreaming up for yourself to the principal’s office. I don’t want you back in this classroom until you can learn to _pay the fuck attention_.”

Oh. He definitely wasn’t happy about this.

If I was feeling anything, I didn’t let my expression show it. After the initial start of surprise, I felt numb. Like I always did; just because I was at school didn’t mean that there was some sort of exception.

I simply stood up like an obedient dog and gathered up my things as he sighed and turned around, making his way back to the board.

I grabbed up my books, my empty notebook, and my pen, shoving all of it into my backpack as the teacher started to talk again, continuing on with his lesson. Fine by me. I didn’t mind going to the principal’s office; no one would bother me there, at least until I met with the principal herself.

Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I was planning on leaving without incident.

In a perfect world, maybe.

Before I was even able to take more than six steps towards the door, someone thought that it would be a brilliant idea to stick their leg out right where I was walking. I gasped as I stumbled forward, barely able to catch myself before I hit the floor; hard, cold linoleum met my chin and I felt my teeth sink into my tongue. And fuck it all if that didn’t hurt as much as the laughter that exploded out of every kid my age in that classroom.

Struggling to get the air back into my lungs, I registered a “Bet you liked that, didn’t you, Jaeger?” just above me before the teacher was shouting again, “Alright, alright, settle down, that’s enough”.

No one helped me up; I didn’t really expect anyone to. Seconds that felt like hours passed before I managed to struggle to my feet far earlier than I felt like I was ready to, stumbling out of that damn classroom full of assholes.

I was used to this.

So, so used to this that I was angry at myself for choking up as I made my way down the hallways painted half black, half orange.

But I didn’t cry.

Not even as I tasted just how much blood was pooling in my mouth, the throbbing from the new injuries mingling with the older ones.

I didn’t shed a tear.

Not even as I found myself in the principal’s office, sitting across from her after she had brought me from the main office following a touch to my shoulder to get my attention that had me flinching away as if she had hit me.

She let out a sigh as she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms across her chest. She proceeded to stare at me for a long moment; that made me a little uncomfortable, so I moved my eyes from her pale green ones to her natural blonde roots, the rest dyed a pitch black. I found myself wondering why she died her hair that color, but I was quickly snapped out of my thoughts as she cleared her throat loud enough to get my attention.

“Eren, this is the second time you have been in my office just this week,” she stated in her usual matter-of-fact tone; I had been here at this school for a total of two months, and I recognized what voice she was using right now. I didn’t like it, if I was honest. She was using that pitying tone with me. I didn’t like the pitying tone.

“Sent here from the same teacher as well,” she continued. “And I’m willing to bet that it’s because you weren’t paying attention again. Am I correct in assuming that?”

I didn’t answer; I just stared back at her.

She sighed again, getting the answer she wanted before glancing away for a moment. Like she was considering something. Then she looked back up at me, her brows furrowed slightly as she leaned forward now.

“Eren, you can talk to me about anything, you know that? About what’s going on here, about what’s going on at home; any of it. You can walk right in here and speak to me, I give you permission to do that, if that’s what you need.”

I kept my expression blank as I stared at her, and after searching my dull eyes for a minute or two in silence, she let out another sigh and grabbed up a pen and a yellow slip of paper.

“I don’t want to have to punish you, but unfortunately, as this isn’t the first time this has happened, I think I’m going to have to suspend you for a couple of days--”

“ _NO_.”

It left me before I could stop it, and I immediately regretted it.

Not because I shouted and she jumped in her chair, startled by my sudden outburst.

But because the last thing I wanted to do was spend more time at home than I had to.

And she picked up on that quicker than I would have liked her to.

“No?” she repeated; I could feel her eyes boring into me, even as I looked away and cursed myself silently.

“…Eren, is there something going on at home that I should know about?”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t dare say a word as I stared at nothing beside me.

The silence dragged on until I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore. And in all reality, I wasn’t sure I could.

I stood up abruptly, avoiding her gaze as I grabbed my backpack up again and walked right out of that office.

Without a glance back, I walked right out of the school building too.

It was still pretty early in the school day itself, just after 11 in the morning, but I wasn’t going to miss anything important. It wasn’t like I paid attention in any of my classes anyways. I wasn’t ready to head home, so I didn’t.

I found myself walking aimlessly down Main Street, my thumbs tucked behind the straps of my backpack. My eyes were mostly on the sidewalk in front of me, occasionally glancing up to make sure that I wouldn’t run into anyone.

I stopped at a random corner store to grab a bottle of soda with what little money I had. I stood outside the store after that, taking sips and realizing pretty quickly that I had no idea where I was. I also didn’t have a phone, so I’d have to ask someone for a ride, or directions. I don’t remember the bus ride being all that long, but then again, I was almost always sleeping, trying to catch up with what little sleep I did manage to get.

I didn’t really know where to go, so I just kept wandering down the road, further away from the school, and either closer or farther away from home. The latter was more than alright with me.

Eventually I found my way onto a street corner.

Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t be here.

I certainly felt slightly awkward beside whom I was sure was a prostitute of some kind with what she was wearing and how she was strutting around the busy corner, but I tried not to judge.

Before I could cross the street, however, a car pulled up in front of me; sleek, black, not conspicuous at all. It stopped right on the crosswalk so I couldn’t go around. I was slightly irritated by that, but I didn’t voice it, even when the tinted passenger’s side window rolled down to reveal a man probably in his forties. He was dressed to the nines; suit and tie, blond hair slicked back with an almost excessive amount of gel, a cigarette between his lips until he took it between two fingers and smirked at me.

I should have walked away.

But when he motioned me to get in, I just couldn’t say no. He had everything I didn’t; a nice car, a good taste in fashion. He was handsome as hell, and I couldn’t deny that, even after we had pulled into an abandoned parking lot and he had grabbed a handful of my unkempt hair in his hand to force me down onto his cock.

The whole time I couldn’t help but think ‘yeah, this is kind of what I deserve; this is kind of what I’m used to’.

After being dropped off in front my house about an hour later with a wad of cash in my pocket and a swollen tongue in a mouth that tasted like ass (to put it simply), I was pleased to find that there was no car in the driveway. That rarely ever happened, but I was happy enough that it did.

While most teenagers were thrilled about being home alone to masturbate or raid the kitchen, I had other things to do before my foster parents came back from whatever they were doing.

I unlocked the door with the key they had made for me, locking the door behind me and heading to my bedroom. Depositing the key and my backpack onto the bed, I grabbed the lighter on my bedside table; until I picked it up, it was nonthreatening and just for lighting cigarettes or joints.

I sat on my bed and pushed up the sleeve of my sweatshirt, revealing burns and cuts; some were made by me, most were not. I had only started this habit about half a year ago; let’s just say that I had learned from the best.

I dropped my arm against my thigh, balling my hand into a fist, gripping tight until I could see the bluish lines of my veins popping up against the pale skin of my arm. I lit the lighter with my free hand, and without a moment’s hesitation, I hovered the flame just over the skin of my arm.

I didn’t hiss when my skin started to bubble, blistering under the heat. I didn’t react, only moved to another spot, until there was nothing but the sharp, consistent burn. I liked it, though. It made me feel something other than the lack of sensation that had settled in my core. It buried the cold and the numb; it created something that made my heart go into a frenzy and made my chest tight. I gasped, but not from pain; I was feeling something again, and it was invigorating.

And just like that, it was gone again. After I had set the lighter to the side and laid down on my side, my injured arm held out away from me, I felt numb again.

But at least this time, I could sleep it off.

At least until I had to face reality in the form of a man much bigger than me, and whose face was hardly familiar at all. 


End file.
